


Delicate Measure

by Landen



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, First Time, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Landen/pseuds/Landen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles, finding himself desperately poor after a misunderstanding with his step-father, readily takes a job offer to be a nude model for the eccentric artist Erik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kink meme prompt for Erik to be an artist who draws Charles. I can't find the link anymore. ):

Charles needed money, that was a given. His funds had been cut off a month ago due to some unforeseen discrepancies in understanding between him and his step father and he was slowly running out of hard cash with which to support himself. Raven was waitressing; spending long hours in a more overtly sexual form because she knew it would garner more tips. Charles did his best to turn a blind eye to it.

Now… now Charles found himself doing the same thing—at least something similar. One of his college friends had introduced him to an artist looking for a model. Charles was looking for more steady work, possibly something in journalism for which he’d acquired a degree, but work was money.

He found that Erik Lensherr was a steely man, tall and intimidating. He wouldn’t shake Charles’ hand when he offered, but he didn’t hide the fact that he was staring Charles up and down as though he were picking him out as a piece of meat. 

“He’ll do,” Erik said curtly. “You’ll make a good model,” he said to Charles. “Give me your email address, and I’ll be sure to email you the details when I’m ready for you.”

Charles didn’t know what kind of artwork Erik made, and his friend curtailed any conversation about the matter. Charles knew he could find out easily by reading his friend’s mind, but the way his friend spoke about it made him nervous to find out for sure. 

He would look when the job was over. It would be easier if he didn’t find out until it didn’t matter if he felt uncomfortable being scrutinized by Erik, whose eyes seemed to bore into him.

It wasn’t until a week later that Erik emailed him, instructing him to go to Erik’s private studio the next afternoon. When he showed up at the door of the studio, Charles couldn’t control his nerves. 

Erik was looking for a nude model. 

He knew this, and yet he still took the job. Raven would work herself to death as a waitress if he didn’t. He knew this, and yet he couldn’t contain his shaking. Charles had spent plenty of time being nude with other people, but he couldn’t recall a time when he’d had someone just watching him be nude, and he’d never realized that something like that could be out of his comfort zone until now.

On top of that, Erik was tall, dark, and scary, and while Charles couldn’t deny that there was definitely an attractive air about him, he also couldn’t deny that his intimidation factor far outweighed his appearance, and both factors made Charles feel strange in entirely too delightful ways.

Charles knocked, and the door swung open immediately.

He raised an eyebrow when he realized there wasn’t another person on the other side of the door, and stood clueless in the doorway for a moment, expecting someone to greet him.

“Well are you coming in or aren’t you?” Erik barked from further back in the studio.

Charles stepped across the threshold and as soon as he was clear of the door it slammed shut behind him. His mind immediately sought out Erik’s, but the man was only thinking of one thing, and Charles was trying to stay away from his thoughts about his paintings. He saw a flash of what he supposed was what Erik thought he looked like naked and he pulled away immediately.

It seemed—any secrets Erik had were being protected by the one thing Charles didn’t want to know explicitly.

Erik hadn’t looked up for a second from his sketch pad and pencil. “Come here,” he said, sounding as though he meant to be gentle. Charles didn’t think Erik would know the meaning of the word if he asked him.

Nonetheless, Charles complied—coming to sit across from him in the small sitting area. There was awkward silence for a long time as Erik continued to move his pencil furiously across the page, and Charles wanted to look but—well, it could have been anything, really. Especially when coupled with his recent mental images.

Finally, Erik set down his tools—Charles could see that Erik had been loosely sketching Charles’ face and he couldn’t stop the heat rising to his cheeks—and turned his attentions to Charles. Erik smirked when he saw where Charles’ eyes were looking. “My, my, if you go this red just seeing me draw your face, I’m eager to know what you’ll do when you’re naked.”

Charles stared at the ground, unsure of how to react to Erik’s sharp and easy words. He wanted to change the subject—wanted to talk about something other than the task at hand because it unnerved him so.

“The door—“ Charles suddenly said, throat feeling uncomfortably dry. “How did you do that?” he asked, bringing his eyes up to meet Erik’s. He knew his face was still flushed, but Erik had already been aware of it and Charles couldn’t stand to have a conversation with someone without looking at their face, no matter the circumstances.

Erik suddenly flicked his hand and his sketch pad began rising off the table by its bindings, dropping easily into his lap like it were a practiced gesture. “I’m a mutant, Charles. I hope this doesn’t bother you,” he said pressingly, as though daring Charles to show his disgust.

Mutants weren’t widely accepted, but most humans had no problems with them as long as they looked and acted human around them. Erik using his powers so freely probably very well scared many of his models off, but obviously Charles wasn’t so easily intimidated—in fact, if anything, it suddenly fixed the air about them. This was something they had in common with one another, and Charles couldn’t deny that he always felt that much safer in the presence of another mutant. 

Charles shrugged the tension out of his shoulders. “Of course not,” he finally said, “I’m a telepath myself,” and he tried to keep the slight edge of nervousness out of his voice saying his mutation, but it was still there.

Erik suddenly grinned widely at him, and Charles could feel the roll of curious pleasure that pushed forward from Erik and he knew it was a measured action. “That’s wonderful,” Erik said, leaning forward. “Please, would you mind demonstrating your ability for me?”

Charles frowned. “I’d—rather not,” he admitted awkwardly.

Erik didn’t let that discourage his enjoyment over the fact, though. “All in due time, I suppose,” he nodded. “Well, since we’ve gotten that out of the way, would you mind stripping now?” Erik didn’t sound the least bit impatient, but Charles couldn’t help but feel that he was eager anyway.

“What—right here?” he asked, tone just a touch incredulous, as Erik waited expectantly.

Erik laughed, and it was an almost cold and eerie sound. “There’s a robe in the bathroom over there,” he said, opening a door to his left with a flick of his fingers. “But I expect to see you fully naked. It’s what we agreed upon,” he said firmly.

Charles couldn’t deny the truth in that, but Erik’s gaze was already too heavy to bear when he had his clothes on. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react when completely naked. He feared getting hard and embarrassing himself in front of Erik, or maybe passing out from the scrutiny.

In the end, Charles retreated to the bathroom and stripped his clothes and pulled the terrycloth robe around him. He didn’t bother tying the sash as he exited the bathroom and found Erik had moved across the small studio to set up an arm chair across from a lighted stage covered in yards of sheer fabric.

Charles tried to quell his rapid heartbeat, but to no avail.

Erik sat in the arm chair and gestured for Charles to come forward. “Now, I want you to just lay here on the stage. Get comfortable. I’m going for… let’s say a woodland sprite that’s stopped to take a nap by a stream. Think you can do that?”

Charles had to laugh at Erik’s directing, feeling the tension ease out of him knowing that Erik was being professional now. The lecherous subtext of his gaze was absent and instead he just seemed to focus on the artwork itself as though Charles were just an extension of his creativity. 

He faced away from Erik as he dropped the robe and climbed up on the stage only to lay down on it. He stretched his arm over his head and gingerly put his other hand over his stomach and said, “like this?”

Erik’s eyes burned into his skin and he tried to fight off the flush, tried to think of baseball and mathematical equations to cool his blood. Erik’s eyes were positively smoldering now, and Charles had to look away from him. “That’s just perfect,” Erik praised and soon he was absorbed in his sketch pad, only glancing up every few moments.

The silence was deafening and Charles sighed. Erik didn’t look up, but Charles could feel his slight amusement as though Erik were trying to project it to him.

“Do you always work in total silence?”

Erik hummed, glancing up for a long moment. “It keeps my head clear,” he said as his eyes dropped back onto the page in front of him. 

Charles finally looked over at Erik to see his eyebrows knit in concentration, his hand moving furiously across the page. Erik flipped to another sheet and set the pencil to paper again. Then he looked up and Charles looked away.

“However,” Erik began blithely, “I’m not opposed to conversation if the silence bothers you.”

Charles thought about it for a long moment, just listening to the hum of the studio and the scraping of Erik’s pencil. Then Erik paused and manipulated his pencil across the room to a table covered in supplies. “I think I’d like to paint you,” Erik murmured, and Charles supposed he was looking at him fondly by the warm affection he was directing at him, but Charles couldn’t be entirely sure.

Erik stood and began rearranging the objects in the room—pushing an easel around by its metal feet while he positioned the arm chair with his hands. Erik slid a small table closer to the easel while he approached his table of supplies and selected a few to follow him. “If you’ll move to the chair over there I’d like to get started,” he said as he prepared a canvas to work on.

Charles scrambled to his feet, crossing the short distance to Erik’s armchair where he sat stiffly, at first, before trying to relax his muscles. “Shall I attempt the woodland sprite again?” Charles said, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No,” Erik said shortly. “This time, why don’t you go for more of a preying tiger? Really lounge across the chair.” 

Charles shifted awkwardly, picking his legs up and positioning himself more comfortably. He tried to think of a tiger—predatory and confident—and found that he couldn’t quite feel the role.

Erik just hummed in delight, and Charles marveled to see that Erik wasn’t moving more than flicking his finger in short, precise, movements. Charles couldn’t see the other side of the easel, but he realized that Erik was painting without the use of his hands when he watched a paintbrush move of its own accord into a pot of paint and then travel out of his sight again.

“So you use your powers?” Charles said, suddenly brightening at the thought. “That’s terribly groovy!”

Erik scoffed just a little. “Can’t paint without them, actually. My brushstrokes are just awful by hand.”

Charles found himself grinning, his body relaxing without him really noticing. “I would love to watch,” Charles murmured fondly, seeing nothing more than Erik’s eyes over the easel, and the occasional flash of the brush as it reached for more paint.

Erik seemed to pause for just a moment. “Then why don’t you have a look?” Erik said invitingly, tapping his temple. “You’re not the first telepath I’ve made acquaintances with—I’m familiar with the ins and outs of it, anyway,” he seemed to ramble. 

Charles wanted to shake his head no, wanted to avoid the subject, but Erik was waiting patiently, watching him for a sign of surrender. Finally, Charles brought his two fingers to his temple and pushed against Erik’s mind, and Erik sighed—Charles tried not to think about the nature of his sigh.

Instead, he focused on the view Erik was giving him in his head. Erik had apparently learned to school his thoughts because the doors of his mind remained closed except for the one that showed him the canvas before him, the shaky outline of his pale body against the black chair. It wasn’t yet recognizable as Charles, and he was almost grateful for the abstraction.

Charles watched as Erik tugged on the magnetism of the metal like invisible strings Erik orchestrated with the flick of his fingers. Charles could feel the tangible weight of the strings in Erik’s hands as he manipulated the brush into the paint and then—oh so delicately—he brought the tip of the brush to the canvas and created another line that ran from Charles’ armpit down to his hip.

Then, Charles pulled away because he could feel Erik’s mind inviting him in deeper like quicksand, and they both sucked in a breath simultaneously at the separation. Erik looked uncharacteristically flustered for a moment, and Charles felt the flood of emptiness that always accompanied a mind meld. 

“You’re quite gifted,” Erik said after a long while, and Charles ducked his head because he knew it wasn’t entirely true. His control over his powers was shaky at best.

“Not like you, my friend,” Charles said softly in return. “Magnetism—it’s very special. I imagine you could be more powerful than I’ll ever hope to be in this lifetime.”

Erik didn’t react to the compliment, and the silence strained into an eternity as Charles sat in the armchair and Erik painted him.

“Perhaps charcoal would suit you more,” Erik said, and Charles startled at the sudden sound.

“Do you always jumble so many mediums?” Charles asked, sitting up straight now that Erik had abandoned his canvas.

Erik dug around and produced a bag of black sticks—charcoal, Charles realized quickly—and a particle board with a smudged piece of paper on it. “It’s because you’re a new model. I just want to make sure I explore all my options before I settle on a medium for the master work.”

“How many different mediums can you use?”

Erik didn’t answer for a long moment as he began situating himself at the small table from earlier, having drawn up a chair so he could work easier.

“Why don’t you sit like a prince?” Erik suddenly demanded and Charles looked at him, clueless. “Sit like… like that chair belongs to you. Sit like this whole studio is yours,” Erik elaborated, gesturing with his hand. “The whole town,” he finished slowly.

Charles breathed deeply, crossing his legs one over the other and gripping the armrests. He tried to portray regality, but it was a hard thing to do when completely naked. 

“I can use most anything,” Erik suddenly answered, “by the way,” he finished, selecting a piece of charcoal and applying it to the paper before him. “Art comes as naturally to me as my magnetism.” Charles could feel Erik’s fondness for his materials, his reverence for the arts.

Charles had always been rather lackluster about his own livelihood—taking up journalism because he had always had an affinity for communication (never mind the telepathy)—never giving considerable thought to how he would spend the entirety of his life.

In Erik, however, it was an obvious straight line. Erik had marked out his Point B in a thick permanent marker and circled it for emphasis. Erik knew he was born to create art and he didn’t shy away from it, he made a career out of it. Charles admired this immensely but felt that mentioning such a feeling would be awkward at best.

“I don’t think you look cocky enough,” Erik teased, and Charles realized he’d been staring at Erik and flushed red. 

“Sorry, my mind was wandering,” he admitted carefully, smiling sheepishly.

Erik let a hint of a smile play at the corners of his lips, and Charles was quick to notice it. “It’s quite alright,” Erik assured him, and the silence continued.

Charles sat still for so long his body began cramping almost painfully, and then Erik switched back to regular pencils, his fingers now completely black from the charcoal though it didn’t deter him.

“Let’s try something a little different,” Erik said. “I think we’ll rap up for the day soon—if you want to be dressed for this next bit, then by all means—“ Erik gestured to the bathroom.

Charles stretched and cracked his joints and replied, “what will I be doing?” his voice inquisitive and just a hint shy.

The sudden pang of lust from Erik startled Charles, but it was gone just as quickly as it came, and Erik didn’t look as though he’d even recognized it himself. “A few action poses. I understand that it’s your first time—normally virgins to the trade aren’t comfortable enough moving around in the nude and my main goal is to capture you in a natural pose.”

Charles could understand Erik’s logic, and he found he was grateful for the out. 

Once he was dressed again, he felt much more comfortable, and Erik was right—he could pose so much more easily.

“I don’t suppose you fancy yourself much of a housekeeper?” Erik asked, bringing out a broom with a metal handle.

Charles eyed it skeptically—that wasn’t part of the deal, cleaning. “Rubbish, actually,” Charles admitted. It was the truth, but perhaps exaggerated a bit. If it were necessary, Charles would do chores but Raven seemed to find abject glee in the menial tasks and Charles was hardly keen on robbing her of that particular torture.

“It’s a prop,” Erik insisted, pushing the broom into Charles’ hand like the nose of a puppy gingerly seeking attention. 

Charles grasped it awkwardly, unsure. “What shall I--?”

“Just start sweeping the floor,” Erik said impatiently, and Charles jumped into action, moving the broom across the floor in what he hoped was a convincing manner.

Erik seemed to accept it readily enough, retreating back into his sketch pad as he scribbled away.

He swept and dusted and even hung a picture frame for Erik before Erik finally said, “I think I have enough for today,” and Charles breathed a sigh of relief.

“Same time tomorrow then?” 

Erik hummed distractedly in response, waving Charles off with his hand and sliding the door shut behind him.

When Charles returned the next afternoon, the door to the studio swung open before he could even knock, and he found Erik pouring over his canvas. Charles averted his eyes when he saw that Erik was finishing up the painting he’d started the day before of Charles sitting in the armchair. He wasn’t sure how Erik had done it, but he’d captured the look of a tiger on Charles’ face in a way Charles didn’t think he could physically imitate.

“Felt you coming,” Erik said when Charles just looked at him. “I recognized your watch and the eyelets on your shoes.” Charles wasn’t sure how he could recognize the difference in such mundane things, but he didn’t question it. Erik looked like death warmed over and left to dry out on the counter.

“Did you sleep at all?” 

Erik shook his head, gently nudging a metal coffee cup from the table up into his hand. “I had to finish this,” he said, gesturing to the painting that Charles wasn’t going to look at. “It’s not my normal faire—I wish you’d take it in, really. It’s for you,” Erik said, sounding just a little annoyed and more than tweaked out.

Charles gave Erik a pleading look, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings but at the same time not wanting to compromise this job. 

Erik sniffed, suddenly lifting the canvas with his hands and dropping it in the trash unceremoniously. “It’s probably for the better,” he said gruffly, and Charles felt immediately and immensely guilty but helpless as to how to remedy the situation.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly and Erik dismissed it with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re only here to get naked for me anyway,” Erik said, and the bathroom door swung open carelessly. 

Charles took the hint, retreating into the bathroom to remove his clothes and don the robe. He took a breath before he stepped back into the main part of the studio again.

Erik had already created a scene by dressing up his stage with a pile of silk pillows. He gestured for Charles to come close. “I want you on your hands and knees,” Erik said, moving to his easel.

Charles couldn’t fight his nerves as he climbed up onto the pillows and situated himself. He felt strangely exposed sitting this way, his ass in the air like an animal. He tried to think of Raven—tried NOT to think of Raven—he tried to think of what she might say if she knew what he were doing, or worse yet—if she knew how much he was enjoying it.

Erik’s eyes were raking over him almost possessively, and Charles shivered. “You’re very attractive,” Erik said. Charles arched his back, unsure of how to react.

“Stay just like that,” Erik commanded with a growl, and Charles shut his eyes and froze his body.

It seemed like eons passed as he just sat there in the silence. He could hear Erik’s brushes clinking against the glass paint pots, the thrum of electricity running through the appliances and lights, and out beyond the walls of the studio was the constant buzz of traffic.

Suddenly, Charles heard the definitive clunk of the paintbrush hitting the table. Erik sighed and stretched his arms over his head as though his practice was physically taxing.

“Would you like a drink?” Erik asked, and Charles sighed immediately, sitting up on his legs.

“That would be lovely, my friend,” he said with a grin, rolling his arms and rising carefully to his feet where he grabbed the robe.

Erik pursed his lips, and Charles felt him project a puff of disappointment. “I would prefer if you remained—“ Erik paused for a second. “What would you like to drink, then? I have water and cola, and a wet bar of course.” Charles couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful that Erik had changed the subject.

Plus, Charles’ interest was piqued at the mention of the bar. Alcohol… he couldn’t remember the last time he could afford even a decent beer, and Erik was genially offering an entire wet bar. Then again, he was here to do work—drinking wouldn’t be too conducive to maintaining a professional attitude.

“I think a drink would loosen you up a bit,” Erik said softly, and Charles couldn’t stop himself from responding to that tone of voice. “I make a rather good martini,” Erik offered, and Charles tried not to think about how easy he had been swayed.

Erik mixed him a drink and he was surprised by the kick behind it when he took a sip, finding it far stronger than he was accustomed to drinking but still… vaguely enjoyable. Erik mixed his own martini and leaned against an empty counter as he drank. 

“Do you drink much?” Charles asked, though the wet bar itself was answer enough.

Erik shrugged casually. “I enjoy a good stiff drink on occasion,” he said pointedly. 

When they were finished their drinks, they returned to the stage and the easel respectively, and Charles crawled back into position, his body feeling warm and suddenly loose from the alcohol. The pleasant haze helped mask some of his embarrassment and he found sitting this way came much easier.

Still, Erik frowned and walked closer, his hand hovering over Charles’ body. “Arch your back a bit more,” he said, and Charles tried to ignore the electricity between his back and Erik’s fingertips, heat generating in the air between them. He remembered the feel of Erik’s powers while inside his head, and he thought he could feel the ghost of those strings trying to reach out to his body as though Erik could manipulate him like a puppet.

Charles sucked in a breath and adjusted his pose and Erik hummed in approval before retreating to behind his easel again.

The silence set in just as before, but it seemed less tense.

After a while, Erik settled his materials and said, “I suppose that’s enough for today. Would you like to see yourself?” he asked, his lecherous tone suddenly returning.

Charles flushed a bit and pulled the robe around him. “I’m sure it’s fantastic,” Charles said, making no move to see. 

Erik frowned just a bit. “It’s not as though you don’t know what kind of work I do,” he said bluntly, and Charles flinched.

Of course… of course he knew—had always known—but that didn’t stop him from avoiding it, from evading the truth as though one could elude such a thing.

Charles darted into the bathroom and changed. He stared at himself in the mirror and willed his body to cool off and calm down. It was just too much too soon to try to reconcile this with his proper nature.

When he opened the door, Erik was waiting expectantly. “Here,” he said, pushing a handful of bills into Charles’ hand. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t force it.” 

Charles didn’t miss Erik’s projections of disappointment laced with a hint of regret, and he wanted to soothe it, wanted—inexplicably—to rectify his failings but found he was unable to say more than, “please.”

Erik just looked at him, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Charles cleared his throat, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets. He could feel the thick wad of bills Erik had given him, and he thought of the taste of real food and his mouth watered. He needed this more than he wanted to walk away. “I want to work for you,” he said, and he couldn’t admit that there was a truthfulness there that had little to do with livelihood. Or perhaps it had everything to do with it, he wasn’t entirely sure. All in all, he didn’t want to leave, not completely.

Erik just nodded. “I’m glad,” he said, “your master work is going to be positively beautiful when I finish it.”

“Is that what you’re working on now?” Charles asked as he gestured to the canvas he was still not looking at. 

“Not even close,” Erik replied, his gaze suddenly heavy and palpable. Charles wanted to shrink away because of the way it made him feel but he stood his ground, pretended not to notice. “All of this—this is just practice. I need to feel the mechanics of your body before I start on the master work.”

Charles shuddered, averting his gaze from Erik. “I see,” he said dumbly, ignoring the heat in his belly. “Well, I’ll be off,” he tacked on, rushing out of the studio.

Once he’d left Erik’s studio he found he could suddenly breathe again, and he tried not to think about what he’d done for the money he used to buy fresh produce and a large piece of beef for dinner that evening.

Raven looked pleased when he brought everything home. They put the rest of Charles’ cash in the cigar box with Raven’s tips, and after they ate two full plates each of food—food so much better than frozen dinners—Raven laid out all their money and counted each bill and each coin deliberately. The grin never left her lips the entire time, and Charles couldn’t help but grin himself as he watched her count.

“You know if you kept that modeling job for a while, we might be able to move into a nicer apartment in the next month. How long are you working there?” Raven asked, stacking a pile of twenties neatly before putting them into the box.

“Truthfully? I don’t know. He’s an artist—my friend said he sometimes takes on models for a week or a month, and sometimes he calls them back later, but… I don’t know,” he finished lamely. He knew it wasn’t steady work in the least. But Raven was hopeful—and Charles was, too. 

“Well, does he like you?” Raven asked, slipping the lid back on the cigar box.

Charles didn’t know how to answer. He supposed Erik liked him well enough—he was paying him quite a bit of hard cash just to sit around his studio in the nude, and Charles couldn’t deny the intentions behind Erik’s heavy gaze—but he didn’t know if he could even find the words to relate this to Raven. Well, he reasoned, he could definitely find the words but it was a matter of being able to voice them.

Raven hummed after a moment of his silence. “Well, whatever you’re doing, I’d say keep it up,” she said, hoisting the cigar box up to return it to its hiding place. He wanted to stop her and tell her she had the wrong idea, tell her not to encourage him, but she was down the hall before he could open his mouth.

When he saw Erik the next day, he was—relieved?—to see that he looked much better than the previous day. “I see you finally reacquainted yourself with the sandman,” he said with a small smile.

“Yes, well, a man needs to sleep some time,” Erik replied casually. “Would you like a drink?” he offered immediately, and Charles would have been more hesitant if he didn’t notice the martini already half-empty in Erik’s hand.

He heard Raven in his head, could even remember how her elation felt at seeing the amount of money Charles had brought home after only two days. Raven barely made that much in two weeks.

“That would be just fine,” he said, and Erik mixed him a drink just like yesterday, and Charles took a long sip of it before sitting with Erik.

Erik sighed after a long moment and said. “I don’t feel much like drawing today.”

Charles would have felt relieved if Erik didn’t look so pained by the fact. Erik was projecting his feeling of loss, of blockage as tangible as starvation.

Charles licked his lips. “Then… what shall we do instead?” he said with a small grin, trying to sound casual, trying not to sound like the come-on he knew it was supposed to be.

Erik didn’t bother to mask his pleasant approval at Charles’ sudden boldness. Charles wasn’t sure if he should dread what that meant or if he should welcome it. Erik was grinning, his gaze nothing but predatory. “You’re a learned man, correct? Would you like to play a game of chess?”

That had not been what Charles was expecting, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. He smiled genuinely, sipping his martini. “That would be nice, but I must warn you—I have yet to meet someone who can beat me at it,” he said, his voice only sounding just a hint cocky, but it was a feeling betrayed by his smirk.

Erik chuckled, sounding almost condescending, getting up to retrieve the board from a side table, the pieces already in their places. “White?”

“Yes, please.”

Erik set the board down and turned it around so the white pieces faced Charles.

“Why don’t you make the first move and I’ll refresh our drinks?” Erik offered, and Charles handed him his glass wordlessly before retreating his gaze to the board.

Erik returned quickly, pushing the near-brimming glass of vodka into Charles’ hand as he surveyed the board. Charles could see the delight writ across Erik’s face, and it just made him want to drink faster.

Not a half-hour later, Charles supposed Erik regretted his offer when Charles thoroughly destroyed him on the board. When Charles said, “Check,” however, he couldn’t help but notice that Erik was grinning just a little, just at the corners of his mouth, as though this were all according to plan.

Charles had to look away for a moment, draining his glass.

Then Erik said, “why don’t we up the stakes? I feel as though I’ll play better if there’s more on the line,” and Charles didn’t miss the spark in his eyes, and dreaded what Erik would say in continuation.

Still, he brought Raven to mind and reminded himself that this was not the worst situation he could find himself in. Erik was attractive and aggressive and Charles knew he would be absolutely lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Erik’s attention.

“What kind of stakes are we talking about here?” Charles said with his eyes lidded suggestively.

“You ever play strip chess in your college days?” Erik asked, and Charles bit his lip. “Honestly, I’ve already seen you naked,” Erik said matter-of-factly. “Unless the idea of seeing me naked is completely repulsive to you, but—“ Erik suddenly leaned across the table and caught Charles’ chin in his hand, “something tells me it isn’t.”

Charles pulled away, rubbing his jaw where Erik had touched him. “Do you have a problem with that?” Charles said, trying to put as much challenge in his voice as Erik had the first day.

Erik broke out into a toothy grin. “That would be the pot calling the kettle black,” he said playfully. “Honestly, Charles, do you suppose I’d have a male model strutting around my studio naked if I weren’t also inclined to sleep with him?”

Charles subtly crossed his legs, trying to ignore the way Erik’s tone of voice shot right through his body like a bolt of electricity. 

His words, however, opened a new door of anxiety within Charles. As if he could forget that Erik took on several models, and probably looked at all of them the same way, with the same measured lust darkening his eyes. It made him feel dirty doing what he was doing. This was purely business.

“I can see you tensing up,” Erik said with a slight frown. “Don’t push yourself,” he said.

Charles cleared his throat and cleared his thoughts and let the soothing warmth of the alcohol settle into his brain. “I’m not,” he said. He tipped his glass up and Erik seemed to take the hint, refilling his glass once more.

Charles nearly winced when he took a sip, finding it far stronger than before. “Why don’t you go first this time?” he said.

Erik hummed in agreement and made his move.

True to his word, Erik seemed to drastically improve when there was something at stake, but he was not without his failings. Charles took a bishop and Erik pulled off his shoes and socks. Erik took two pawns and Charles removed his own footwear and then un-tucked his shirt and pulled his sweater vest over his head. He had to undo his collar, too, because the vodka was making him feel hot. Erik’s gaze wasn’t helping either.

Charles, in quick succession, captured half of Erik’s pawns, as well as a knight, and Erik pulled off his shirt, his undershirt, and yanked his belt free of the loops. 

Charles tried to keep his eyes away from Erik’s body, but the man was unbelievably toned, his body cut more like a soldier’s than an artist’s. And he looked so smug, as though he knew Charles couldn’t help himself, and it was entirely too infuriating for him.

He seemed to lose himself after that, because Erik managed to capture a few more of his pieces, and Charles was surprised to find himself down to his briefs. Erik still had his pants on. 

Oh, and his glass was suddenly empty, too, which wasn’t entirely too disappointing because Charles felt that he’d had quite enough by that point.

Then finally—finally—Charles captured Erik’s queen, and Erik grinned lasciviously as he knocked her over. “As the victor, what kind of… spoils are you after?” Erik asked, his hand sliding into his lap to gently touch the button on his jeans.

Charles licked his lips and swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes away from Erik’s crotch. Now he knew he was toeing the line, and if he made the wrong decision he’d be leading himself down a path of dubious behaviors he didn’t think suited him. But Raven—

Well, she wouldn’t know, anyway. “Since I won, I suppose… it’s only fair if we’re on equal ground here. You’ve seen me in the nude,” he reminded gently, and Erik nodded his consent.

His eyes never left Charles as he stripped, and Charles couldn’t keep the heat off his face when his gaze flickered from Erik’s face down to his hands to see his zipper fall as if of its own accord before he looked back up again. 

Erik made no hesitation when he pushed his pants down—there was nothing underneath, however, and Charles had to wonder how he’d never noticed THAT—before settling back against the couch. He picked up his martini and took a sip, and Charles had to wonder why Erik didn’t just draw himself, because Erik was exuding an air of absolute confidence, predatory and aggressive.

Then he said, “Fancy another go?” Charles wondered if a post-coital cigarette wouldn’t look out of place in Erik’s mouth.

Charles stood. “Yes well—that’s very nice but—perhaps—this is a good time to end this for today," he said, hastily climbing back into his clothes and hoping that would be enough of a hint for Erik to redress himself.

He could feel Erik’s projected disappointment as he put his clothes back on, but he didn’t let it sway him. 

This was business, after all.

Charles stumbled a little from the alcohol, and he was surprised when Erik caught him by the arm and righted him again. His face felt hot, and he couldn’t fight his embarrassment. What had he been thinking, agreeing to this?

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Erik asked, sounding innocent enough, but Charles was sure there was some kind of smirk on his face—not that he was looking to know.

Charles shook his head. “I’ll be fine—I’m not some delicate maiden,” he bit back.

Erik chuckled. “Yes, but booze can be a great equalizer,” he joked. “I just want to make sure you make it home in one piece.”

Charles sighed. “Fine, that’s—fine,” he said hastily. 

Erik led him out by a hand on the small of his back, and Charles couldn’t help the shiver that ran up his spine, or the loss he felt when Erik pulled away from him in the hall.

Their walk was rather silent, but Erik seemed to exude a feeling of pleasantness in a way Charles wanted to say was uncharacteristic of him. Erik had lost both matches, but he was still acting proud as though he’d won, as though he hadn’t been subjected to stripping as a condition of his loss.

And Charles wasn’t soon going to forget the way Erik’s naked body looked. He was all hard lines and muscle, every inch of him pulled taut and sharp and perfect. And even soft, Erik’s cock was—

Well, he wasn’t going to allow himself to think about that, even though he was positive that was what Erik wanted in the end. He filed it away in his mind for later, for when he was alone and he could allow himself to think about those things.

“This is me,” Charles said when they were in front of his building. “And as you can see, I made it in one piece.” He gave Erik a reassuring smile, tried not to sound too sarcastic.

Erik didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he put a hand on Charles’ shoulder and leaned in just slightly. “I’m glad I could help,” he said, voice just a little thick. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, putting his other hand over Charles’ and holding it there despite the bills pressed awkwardly between their palms.

Charles nodded before pulling away from Erik’s touch and heading inside. 

Raven was home when he walked in and she smiled brightly at him, and Charles thought it best to distract her immediately with the money. “Charles!” she said excitedly. “This is almost as much as you gave me yesterday!”

He tried not to think about what that meant. He felt guilt hit him hard at her excitement, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep the truth from her.

“He must really like you,” she murmured, lovingly counting the bills.

“I think he wants to sleep with me,” Charles admitted suddenly.

Raven looked up, shock apparent on her face. She was silent for a long moment, taking in Charles’ distraught face, and Charles wanted to look away when she smiled just a little. “Well—how do you feel about him? Is he attractive? I mean—I’m not saying sleep with him for money but—well, if you like him enough you might as well get something out of him, right?”

Charles felt ill, and he bit his lip, looking away from her. “I—I don’t—“ He shrugged his shoulders, shrugged off the way he felt talking about this with Raven. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Raven said, sounding just a little gentler than usual. “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think it’d be right if you were legitimately prostituting yourself, but… I won’t deny that I really like it when I catch a cute guy checking me out and find out he’s left me a nice tip and his phone number.”

But that didn’t make him feel any better about it. He knew how all the other times ended for Raven, how crude, disgusting men would leer at her across the restaurant, and there was even that one time a particularly gross gentleman followed her all the way home. “Raven,” he admonished lightly, wishing to remind her of those times and how—surely—that far outweighed whatever satisfaction she felt when things went well for a change.

Raven flipped her blond hair over her shoulder before he could speak and shoved Erik’s money into her pocket. “Look—Charles—you have to know this stuff, I mean, people have casual sex all the time—“

Charles’ eyes went wide at that; suddenly not ready to have this conversation with his sister of all people. “Raven, please—“

She held up a hand. “I know, I know, you’re not a virgin, but… you just need to let go sometimes! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of it—with being attracted to someone or having someone be attracted to you. I mean, the people who are attracted to me aren’t always the kind of people I’m attracted to, but it’s really nice when the two things happen at the same time, if you know what I mean,” she said playfully.

Raven laughed when she realized Charles had begun contemplating it, giving him some space by leaving the room to go hide Erik’s money away.

She was right, of course, but Charles didn’t want to hear that. All this time, he realized, the majority of his guilt had to do with Raven—with how she had to put up with substantially more unwanted attention than Charles could ever dread having to put up with—and how every time he started enjoying himself with Erik he couldn’t help but think of Raven—poor Raven being harassed by seedy old men just for a few extra bucks. 

It was true that they were struggling financially, but Raven was anything but poor, it seemed. How had he missed that about her? He’d spent so much time trying to avoid that dark part of their lives that he’d missed where Raven had gotten over it completely. 

Charles went to the kitchen then to get a glass of water to help clear his head a bit. Raven joined him shortly after, a small knowing smirk on her lips the only evidence of their conversation just minutes earlier. She didn’t say anything, of course, but he could feel her warm reassurance radiating off her in waves. That, more than any of the words she could have said, made him finally feel better.

Charles felt less nervous the next day at Erik’s studio. Erik greeted him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and then said, “I have a proposition for you, Charles.”

Charles suddenly felt his nerves return slowly, but he didn’t let his smile waver. “And what would that be?”

Erik was suddenly crowding him slightly in the doorway, raising a hand to the wall between Charles’ head and the door. “You know the nature of my work,” he said slowly.

Charles looked up at his face, trying to read… something there. His heart was pounding dreadfully in his chest with Erik in such close proximity. Instinctively, he brought his fingers up to his temple but quickly pulled them away when Erik began projecting some kind of amalgamation of arousal and glee when he noticed the action. Charles supposed there was no going around it this time. “I know,” he said shortly, trying not to think about how he knew.

“Why don’t you look into my mind—see what I’m asking for,” Erik murmured. 

And Charles wanted to, oh so badly, he realized. He wanted to delve into Erik’s mind and caress every crevasse of his brain and lick out his thoughts. 

He jumped when Erik grabbed his hand and brought his fingers up to his temple for him. Charles steadied his pose, hesitated for just a moment before he was pushing into Erik’s mind, and Erik’s thoughts wrapped around him like a tight wet heat, and there—there—Charles saw the blurry visions Erik wanted him to see and he pulled out harder than he probably should have seeing himself, looking wanton and fully aroused as Erik painted him, and Charles moaned in pain—pain?—and shoved Erik away from him physically in the same second.

His head was pounding from the mental contact, and Erik didn’t seem that much better off. “I’ll fetch us some Excedrin,” Erik said softly, retreating to the bathroom.

Charles was grateful for the painkillers, and he didn’t speak until he’d taken the pills and the glass of water Erik handed him. “That was intense,” he muttered miserably. 

Erik chuckled. “You telepaths are always intense,” he remarked fondly, and Charles smiled just a little in spite of himself knowing Raven would immediately agree.

“I’ll do it,” Charles suddenly said, looking up at Erik through his eyelashes in what he hoped was a suggestive manner. 

Erik lit up immediately, projecting stark approval as he gave Charles a predatory grin. “Fantastic. I’ll set the scene if you’d like to get into something… more comfortable,” Erik drawled, reaching out and touching Charles’ face gently with his thumb.

Charles pushed his hand away and frowned just slightly. “Just—no touching. This is for the sake of art, is it not?” Charles quickly retreated into the bathroom after that, his courage draining right out of him under Erik’s gaze.

When he returned to the main room of the studio, Erik had changed the lighting and put focus on his black armchair, which he swathed in cloth. Charles wanted to tremble when he felt Erik’s unrepentant eagerness, but he kept himself steady.

“You looked good in my chair,” Erik said lasciviously, and he motioned for Charles to sit.

Charles dropped the robe and tried to sit as naturally as he could, but he was nervous and a little self-conscious, and having Erik drink him in with his eyes like a man with an endless thirst was definitely not making it any easier on him.

“Just relax,” Erik said gently. “You’re absolutely beautiful,” he added.

“Now,” Erik began again, his tone suddenly less perverted. “Why don’t you touch yourself? I need to know what your face looks like, what your cock looks like—for the master work.”

Charles sprung up as soon as Erik looked at him, and he tried to disguise it by reaching down and cupping his erection in his hand. He screwed his eyes shut in his shame, and did little more than grip his cock.

“I bet you look really good when you’re about to come,” Erik said, pushing his lust onto Charles in palpable waves. Charles couldn’t stop the small moan from leaving his lips. “Will you look at me?”

Slowly—hesitantly—Charles opened his eyes and looked over at Erik, and his fingers tightened reflexively on his cock when he saw the dark arousal clouding Erik’s face. “I want to see you flushed with desire,” he said, and Charles slid his hand up his cock, smearing pre-come down from the head along his shaft, and he moaned very softly, and did his best not to look away from Erik.

Charles shifted his position, lounging back a little more comfortably as he worked himself over. Erik was furiously zipping his paintbrushes along the canvas, his eyes flickering up every other moment and lingering intensely on Charles’ body before descending back to his art again.

He didn’t know how long he would last, feeling Erik’s arousal like second-hand smoke as he touched himself gingerly. 

When Charles arched his back and let himself lay out farther across the chair, Erik hissed and said, “stay just like that,” in a breathy, desperate voice, and it went straight to Charles’ cock. Charles could see perspiration collecting on Erik’s forehead as he worked, his concentration focused entirely on capturing Charles’ body in his work.

“God, I’d love to fuck you,” Erik murmured affectionately, and Charles had to squeeze the base of his cock to delay his orgasm. Charles sucked in a breath and let his head fall back, trying not to focus on how badly he wanted to come now—how easy it would be after hearing something like that from Erik.

“Erik, please,” Charles whined, trying to sound stern but feeling as though he came off as pleading instead.

Erik’s brushes dropped lifeless to the floor and he stepped around his easel. In the short time he’d known Erik, Charles had never seen the man’s eyes so bright, bordering on luminescent—a show of his desire, of his need, of his unabashed lust for Charles, and Charles was completely undone by it. He could only sit helplessly, his hand gripping his cock hard as Erik stalked closer to him looking ready to just eat him.

“Please?” Erik asked coyly, his hands supporting his weight on the arms of the chair as he leaned in closer to Charles, invaded his personal space.

“We—can’t,” Charles said, voice strained and uncertain as ever. 

“But I think we can,” Erik drawled, one hand coming up, hovering close to Charles’ chest as though he dared not touch him yet.

Charles looked away and bit his lip, tried to draw the necessary strength to deny Erik. Erik’s mind was like a heavy weight pressing into him and he could barely breathe under the pressure, and his cock was throbbing—throbbing for Erik to touch him, just simply put his hands on him—

“We can’t,” he repeated, sounding surer of himself. “Not here,” he added softly, shamefully, and he was so overwhelmed by Erik’s sudden wave of surprised delight and anticipation and pure lust that he very nearly came right then.

“Then where?” Erik hummed, his mouth split in a wide grin.

Charles hissed, squeezing his cock hard enough to hurt. “Your place,” he said darkly, licking his uncomfortably dry lips.

For a moment, Charles was sure that Erik was going to kiss him--could hear the temptation on the edge of Erik’s mind like he’d spoken the words—but the other man just pulled away and reigned in his desires. “Then you’ll need to get dressed,” he said eagerly.

Charles complied mutely, suddenly feeling unnatural and on edge as he retreated into the bathroom to redress. He wanted to say he had been wrong—there was still that part of him that hadn’t died, the part that saw the danger in this—but the majority of his mind had been made up, and his body wanted Erik as though he’d never wanted anyone else in his life.

There would be no going back, and he was resigned to his fate the second he stepped out of the bathroom.

“I only live down the street,” Erik said blithely, nearly pushing Charles out of the studio in his anticipation, and Charles felt strangely giddy about it.

Erik couldn’t keep his hands off Charles on the walk to his apartment, his fingers resting against the small of Charles’ back, sliding up to finger the bones of his spine before touching the hair at the nape of Charles’ neck, his hand then falling to touch Charles’ wrist suggestively. Charles just wanted to pull Erik into the nearest alley and—

Well, he didn’t think Erik would mind in the least, but Charles had more composure than that.

“In here,” Erik said breathlessly, pushing Charles up a few steps to a door that opened to greet him with the pitch black interior of a quaint little townhouse.

Charles would have been startled when all the lights started blinking to life around Erik’s house if he hadn’t known Erik’s power, and Charles took that moment to take in what he could of the other man’s personal belongings.

Charles spotted a small faded photo of a man and a woman in a frame on a low table in the hallway, but there wasn’t much else aside from Erik’s necessary furniture. He would have expected more elegance from an artist—at the very least, he would have expected something lusher given the amount of money he had carelessly given to Charles over the last few days.

“This way,” Erik said, and Charles gasped when Erik yanked on him by the metal in his belt and the fly of his pants. Up the stairs they went, Charles following wordlessly, trying to swallow his apprehension and his nerves—trying to remind himself that this meant nothing about his character, that people had casual sex all the time, and that Erik was hot, and Erik wanted it.

Erik pulled him into his bedroom and immediately pressed him into the door, and Charles suddenly found he couldn’t think if he tried because Erik’s body was all hard lines, hard muscle, pressed against him, and Erik was hard and insistent against his thigh. 

Charles let out a breathy moan and that’s when Erik moved in for a kiss.

It was a gentle meeting of lips at first, a perfunctory first kiss that left Charles breathless nonetheless. Then Erik kissed him again, fiercely this time as he met Charles’ mouth with tongue and teeth, biting and sucking and tasting.

Charles felt dizzy, and suddenly alive, and Erik’s mouth felt absolutely perfect against his own as though they had been built for each other and they both moaned when Erik pulled away this time.

“I wanted to kiss you like that the moment I saw you,” Erik praised, cupping Charles’ chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and Charles opened his mouth just a fraction more, let his tongue run along his bottom lip to taste the tip of Erik’s thumb, and Erik’s eyelashes fluttered closed for a brief second.

Then Erik was kissing him again, sliding his lips along Charles’, sucking on his bottom lip and then his top lip before letting his tongue skitter along Charles’ tongue, and there was something unsettlingly desperate in the way that Erik kissed him, but it felt much too good for Charles to worry about it.

“Your lips are perfect,” Erik muttered against them reverently, and Charles let his eyes fall shut under Erik’s scrutiny.

Erik touched him gently, as though Charles were fragile glass. He felt out the plains of Charles’ stomach and chest, his hands coming around to touch his back before sliding up under his shirt, and Erik was quick to pull the damn thing up over his head and discard it somewhere along the floor.

Charles rested his head against the door when Erik’s mouth drifted to his neck to lay soft kisses there while his hands sought out his nipples and touched them lightly with the pads of his thumbs. When Erik bit down on his collarbone, Charles let out a choked gasp and bucked against him, unable to stop himself, and Erik chuckled against his skin.

“I don’t want this to be quick,” Erik said sharply even as his hand drifted down Charles’ body to lightly touch his erection. “I want to fuck you so thoroughly the only thing you can remember is my name.”

“Erik,” Charles hissed involuntarily, pressing forward to kiss Erik hard and wanton, his arms coming around Erik’s neck to hold him in place. Erik rubbed the heel of his hand against him, and Charles broke away to let out a moan. “Please,” he whined.

Suddenly—as though Erik had been taking great care to shield himself—Charles could feel the slough of Erik’s desire as it racketed through his body, his carnal lust as apparent as the color of his eyes. Charles shuddered, lost his balance, and would have likely crumpled to the ground under the weight if Erik didn’t catch him in his arms.

Erik led him to his bed, and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. Charles sat back and watched as Erik stripped; licking his lips in anticipation as Erik revealed each tantalizing inch, and Charles said, “I want you so badly,” and he wasn’t sure if it was his own thought or a product of Erik’s buzzing mind against his own, but he was beyond the point of caring.

Charles moved back against the pillows as Erik crawled onto the bed with him, over top of him, and neither moved to touch for a long moment before Erik leaned in and kissed him again.

Charles winded himself around Erik as they kissed, arms around his neck and legs trapping Erik’s hips against his own. Erik shifted to better line them up, and Charles let out a relieved little moan into Erik’s mouth feeling Erik’s cock against his own. Erik’s wonderful, amazing—

Charles hissed, bucked hard against Erik as Erik began touching him all over again, fingers scraping up his thigh, nails digging into his hip before he gently squeezed what he could reach of Charles’ ass, and Charles just wanted to fuck, rutting helplessly against Erik who seemed to have an infinite well of patience despite the urgency of his lust that pressed hard into Charles’ mind. Charles knew, he knew that Erik was set alight, and still the other man was impossibly slow.

“Erik,” Charles said again, squeezing Erik’s hips with his thighs, begging for more wordlessly because that was all he knew how to do.

“I want all of you,” Erik said possessively as he began kissing along Charles’ neck, his teeth finding purchase just below his ear, just for a second, before he moved lower and began sucking on the mark he’d made on his collarbone, and Charles arched into it.

“Anything,” Charles agreed helplessly, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe while up against Erik’s tumultuous flurry of emotion.

“Then don’t hold back,” Erik said, and Charles was left bewildered for just a moment before Erik pulled his hand away from Erik’s back and pressed his first two fingers to his temple. Charles couldn’t help making the connection, and he had to suck in air in great gasps because he was drowning in Erik’s open mind as everything came to greet him like an expected visitor, like a tidal wave from the ocean. There were Erik’s regrets and solitude and yearnings all laid bare and suddenly, Charles was being enveloped in distinctive warmth, and his body positively writhed under the attention of Erik’s affection.

He eased his mind away—at Erik’s influence, Erik had been there with him in his own mind, holding his hand like a lost child—and Erik was grinding into him desperately, and Charles had to kiss him gently and deliberately so he could ride it out with him.

Erik stilled of his own volition, and Charles was embarrassed to hear himself absolutely keen like an animal in heat. Charles shivered when Erik pulled away; suddenly feeling cold and exposed without Erik’s warmth surrounding him, without Erik’s cock nestled snugly against his own.

Charles tried to relax as Erik’s hands began caressing his body again, but having hot fingers memorize the plains of his body so slowly, so delicately, was making his blood boil and his cock throb painfully, and he couldn’t breathe at all when Erik’s thumbs found his nipples again, slowly rolling them over—over and over while Charles moaned softly.

Then Erik leaned in and took one into his mouth, his teeth finding purchase on it for just a moment before he laved Charles’ nipple with his tongue. Charles’s cock was weeping by this point, and all he wanted was a little friction—

Erik seemed to pick up on his frustration, and Charles didn’t miss the shiver that ran up his spine before he reached for the bedside drawer and called a tube of slick up to his hand.

He deftly flicked the cap off and Charles helped him rearrange his legs so that they were splayed open, knees drawn up as high as he could manage comfortably, with Erik’s free hand pressing on the back of his knee to spread him open that much wider.

“Every part of you is perfect,” Erik said lovingly, manipulating the slick to squirt onto his fingers. He slid his wet fingertips up against Charles’ hole, and Charles hissed, arched his back. “Here,” Erik said, pressing forward, letting his fingers slip into Charles’ heat with practiced ease. “Your body is hungry for it,” he growled, pupils blown.

Charles shut his eyes against it, rolling his hips against Erik’s fingers as they deftly worked inside him. This was all he needed—Erik fucking him open slowly, deliberately stroking his insides and stretching him wide.

Erik replaced his fingers with his cock, thrusting in shallowly at first, acclimating Charles to the girth of his member before pressing forward. Charles bore it, meeting Erik’s hips with every thrust, wanting to feel Erik’s cock buried completely inside him.

“Erik!” Charles cried when Erik plunged in to the base of his cock, his balls resting against Charles’ ass.

“So—hot, so… good,” Erik choked out, holding stock still with his cock inside Charles. Charles squirmed against him, digging his fingernails into Erik’s shoulders because he needed to move for fuck’s sake, and Erik complied, pulling out just a fraction before slamming back in, seemingly unable to pull himself away.

Erik’s pace was harried, shallow, and Charles was sucking in air between thrusts. Erik was perfectly brutal, his cock unforgiving on Charles’ prostate, his hands greedy where they squeezed him, stroked him, his mouth hungry—all teeth and tongue, and suction. Charles couldn’t do more than hold on, panting heavily into Erik’s neck.

Charles jerked when Erik’s hand clamped around the base of his cock, sobbing at the punishing grip. “Not yet,” Erik warned, giving a hard squeeze before dragging his fingers appreciatively up the length of Charles’ aching cock. Charles could feel Erik’s delight to find the pool of pre-come that had collected on his stomach, and in an obscene gesture, Erik skimmed his fingers through it, collected some on his fingertips, and pressed it against Charles’ bottom lip before canting his hips awkwardly and smearing it across his face.

Then Erik was kissing him fiercely, sucking the fluid off his lip before licking into his mouth to suck on his tongue. He stilled for a moment, then pulled away to sit up. “I need to see you from behind,” Erik said, voice hoarse with a need that left Charles shaken.

Together, they maneuvered Charles’ leg across Erik’s chest so he could rest on his stomach, thighs spread obscenely wide. Erik straddled his leg and pulled out to reposition himself, and Charles felt tears pricking his eyes at the loss. “Erik,” he keened, not sure what else to say, and not having to think about it because Erik was pressing into him again slowly and surely, his cock a welcome intrusion, a puzzle piece missing from Charles until now.

Charles couldn’t last, not with Erik taking swift, deep, thrusts that rocked his hips into the blankets, his cock rubbing languidly into the cloth beneath him. He came with a sigh, almost a hiccup, hips shaking, hands clenching the blankets, and he tried hard not to cry out as Erik continued fucking him, but he could only bite his lip so much. 

And when he moaned out Erik’s name, Erik stilled inside him, hands brutally holding his hips in place as he emptied himself into Charles, and Charles was much too fucked out to even notice.

Charles’ mind was swimming, and when he found clarity again, he realized that Erik was gently wiping him up with a warm damp cloth. Erik grinned at him, that strange light in his eyes again, and Charles was surprised when Erik kissed him again, but definitely not unhappy about it.

Erik nipped at the skin just under his chin and let the cloth fall over the side of the bed before settling next to Charles with an arm around his shoulders. 

“Fancy another go?” Charles teased, drawing circles on Erik’s chest with his index finger.

Erik’s other hand came around to slide down Charles’ shoulder to his elbow, slipping around to grip his waist and draw him close for a deep kiss, but Charles was laughing so Erik moved down to suck on his collarbone to turn that laughter into a moan.

Erik looked back up at Charles, pushing his knee between Charles’ thighs. “But slowly,” Erik suddenly said. “Let me in your mind,” he begged gently, “and come into mine,” he finished as he kissed Charles’ neck and chest softly and reverently.

Charles’ fingers touched his temple, but he didn’t initiate contact, not until Erik had rolled over between his legs to let the head of his cock nudge against Charles’ stretched hole.

Erik plunged inside the second Charles delved into Erik’s mind, feeling Erik’s cock as Erik felt it—proud and huge and conquering Charles’ body inch by inch. He felt the wet heat of his own body as though it were clenching around his cock first hand, and Erik groaned and his hips stuttered, and Charles understood because Erik was giving him this, willingly showing him this information about the telepaths he’d fucked around with. Emma, he recognized through Erik’s eyes, the blond woman with the huge tits. Charles felt that he should have been at least vaguely concerned he was watching Erik plow into her while she projected the feel of him inside her and yet he couldn’t feel angry to be shown this in the midst of their fucking, and Erik praised him in his mind, his thoughts of pleasure and acceptance and need and want and gratefulness all swirled together and swirled around him, and Charles writhed against him unable to contain it.

Then Erik was pressing forward, was proving his experience with telepaths by searching Charles’ mind while they were connected, and Charles could feel his mind slither around Erik’s presence, sucking him in deep and hard, surrounding him and drowning him in his thoughts, and Charles only pulled away when he realized Erik was physically gasping for air.

When Charles slipped his mind away from Erik’s, Erik jerked his hips forward and they both came hard, shuddering and gasping to their finish.

They were both breathing heavily when Erik pulled out of him, retrieving the cloth from only minutes earlier to clean them up again.

Charles had mostly gained control of his breathing when Erik lay down, and Charles curled into him. “Do you mind if I sleep for a bit?” he asked, feeling too exhausted to even move. Erik shook his head and gently touched Charles’ hair, and the touch lulled him to sleep like a baby.

Charles woke up some time later, bewildered by the soft sound of scratching. When he looked across the empty bed he could see Erik sitting, half-dressed, in a chair with a sketch pad in hand. Charles sighed, a small lazy smile on his lips. Erik had fucked him so good and the memory of it left him feeling fuzzy and pleasant despite the ache in his backside.

“So you wanted to be a geneticist?” Erik asked, and Charles gasped, drawing the blanket around him as he sat up.

“Excuse me?”

Erik hummed, flipping the page of his sketchbook. “I found it in your mind—it was something little, you probably didn’t mean for me to see it, but well—“ Erik shrugged as if that were perfectly reasonable and asked, “what happened to you?”

Charles bit his lip, tried to keep his voice even. “It’s unimportant,” he said sharply.

Erik tisked and flipped the page again, his pencil barely skipping a beat in the process. “You might as well tell me,” Erik said after a long moment. “I mean, I already know—vaguely—I’m just interested in the full story.”

Charles sighed, relenting much too easily. “My step-father found out I’m gay—and a mutant on top of that. When my mother passed away, no one said anything when he took possession of her estate and shipped me and my sister out here to the city where he wouldn’t have to deal with us.”

“And he stopped supporting you?” Erik asked casually, as though Charles had relinquished the information completely willingly, but Charles nodded anyway.

“There’s nothing I can do,” Charles said quietly.

“Bullshit,” Erik hissed. “That’s bullshit. Did your mother have a will? Did you ever even try to contest it?” Erik flipped the page in his sketch pad again. “If it’s yours, you have every right to fight for it. I can’t believe you would just lie down and die when you’re a telepath for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you just take what you wanted from those pathetic humans?”

Erik growled and dropped his sketchbook on the floor. “Ah, these will never sell,” he muttered, raking in his rage at Charles’ helplessness and running his fingers through his hair.

But Charles could feel something drop out of his stomach at Erik’s words, and he felt sick when he realized that Erik had been sketching him mid-fuck, his face screwed up in pleasure and passion. Their intimate moment, so casually tossed aside.

Charles stood like a zombie and pulled his clothes on. “Erik—“ he began, unable to bring his eyes up. “Thanks for the advice,” he finished, stepping into his shoes. 

Erik came around the bed and touched his face gently. “You really are the most beautiful model I’ve ever drawn,” Erik said sweetly, but the words were bitter on Charles, and he pulled away from Erik’s touch. 

Erik slipped money into his back pocket in the midst of groping his ass and Charles said good-bye abruptly before nearly running to get out of Erik’s house.

How many more before him? How many more after?

He tried not to think about what Erik’s drawings would look like, or who would buy them and display them and look at them.

Six years passed, and in that time Charles returned to his home and managed to regain his mother’s belongings. Kurt was long gone, and Charles took Raven with him to Oxford.

The day of his graduation, a package came for him with no return address.

When he opened it, he was surprised to find several erotic drawings—sketches and scribbles and on the bottom was a care-worn pencil drawing of nothing but Charles’ smiling face.

There was a note paper-clipped to the edge of it and it said, ‘I couldn’t manage to sell them.’


End file.
